


Oh, Singing; la la la la la la la…

by SpacedOutDude



Series: Space's MCYT/DSMP Oneshot Emporium [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But also, Gen, Inspired by Hadestown, Inspired by an animatic, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), November 16th, Songfic, and so is wilbur, epic iii, im not wrong, quackity is a bard, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacedOutDude/pseuds/SpacedOutDude
Summary: Where everyone knows that Wilbur left. Where they tried again to save him.Inspired by this animatic by tamato jam on YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2CYjgQK3bI&feature=youtu.beTitle and almost all italics are from Epic III (Live) from Hadestown
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot, a little bit of sbi?, i mean everyone else mildly interacts, that's the main one here
Series: Space's MCYT/DSMP Oneshot Emporium [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141154
Kudos: 30





	Oh, Singing; la la la la la la la…

Quackity and the rest of the L’Manburgians weren’t stupid. They knew Wilbur was going to go through with “plan B”. He was a man that had forgotten everything that made him _him_. He was a man that believed he had nothing, no one. He was a man that was broken, shattered by others. He was a man dead-set on blowing up the love of his life, his “unfinished symphony”, L’Manburg. Nothing and no one would stop him.

It was just even further confirmed when he turned down the presidency of his love. The original L’Manburgians, including Quackity, had made a plan in case something like this were to happen, and it seemed they’d have to proceed with it and hope that it worked. Hoped that it would bring back the real Wilbur. The man before the wars, the man underneath all the broken glass of trust and optimism.

Wilbur had tried to walk away once Tubbo had started his speech, but Tommy latched onto his arm as he used to when they were children. He looked at his brother with pleading eyes, but he couldn’t see his flesh and blood in them. Wilbur eventually pulled out of the grasp and walked away. He made the trek to behind the podium, a place he was too familiar with. A place of despair, a place of horror, a place of sick worship. The last place he might see. The last place he’d hopefully see. He didn’t know if he wanted to see L’Manburg after all was said and done. He didn’t want to see the look on Tommy and Tubbo’s faces, the worry in Niki’s eyes, the hatred in Fundy’s, the pride in Dream’s, the violence in Techno’s. He couldn’t even bear to imagine the look of disappointment that Phil would have given him if he were there. If he cared enough about his son to show. 

Wilbur was too stuck in his head to notice a singular bard following him. Quackity and Tommy knew this room. They had seen Wilbur in this room, they had stopped him from pressing that damned button once, they’d do it again. They’d do it as many times as they’d need to save their country. To save Wilbur’s country. 

Quackity held Wilbur’s guitar in his hands and followed him the closest. The rest were to wait for Tubbo to be done speaking. But now it was his time.

Wilbur’s coat flared behind him in the wind as he walked to the piled up dirt, hiding the room he was to breathe his last breath in. He clawed at the dirt, pushing it all away. It was odd, it should’ve practically crumbled after a few motions. He pushed his hand forward and was met with the smooth, cold, rock. He furiously kicked at the dirt, wiping it all away as he marveled at the obsidian blocking the entrance to his room. He pounded at the rock helplessly, the tough stone not giving in.

_Heavy and hard is the heart of the king_

Wilbur whipped around behind him to find Quackity, slowly strumming _his_ guitar, singing a faint melody.

_King of iron, king of steel_

He turned back to the obsidian and started to slowly chip away at it, doing his best to ignore the other man.

_The heart of the king loves everything_

_Like the hammer loves the nail_

This was their last chance. If this didn’t work, L’Manburg would be no more than a smoldering crater. Quakcity’s voice shook a little as he sang.

_But the heart of a man is a simple one_

_Small and soft, flesh and blood_

_And all that it loves is a woman_

_A woman is all that it loves_

Wilbur looked to the obsidian. In the small imperfections, he could almost make out the x’s of his flag.

_And Hades is King of the scythe and the sword_

_He covers the world in the color of rust_

_He scrapes the sky and scars the earth_

_And he comes down heavy and hard on us_

Wilbur slowly stopped his movements, letting the obsidian rest where it was. His hand unconsciously traced the outline of the x’s and found the lines that made up his nation’s symbol.

_But even that hardest of hearts unhardened_

_Suddenly, when he saw her there_

_Persephone in her mother’s garden_

_Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair_

He closed his eyes, resting his empty hand on the cold rock. He saw it, his old nation, his old friends, his old hope, his old self. Who he used to be. He was with Tommy, and Tubbo, and Niki, and Fundy, and Jack. They all sat together, looking over their beautiful nation.

_The smell of the flowers she held in her hand_

_And the pollen that fell from her fingertips_

_And suddenly Hades was only a man_

_With a taste of nectar upon his lips, singing:_

_La la la la la la la…_

They’d sing their anthem, Wilbur’s calloused fingers carefully gliding across the strings, happily singing along with everyone else. They’d sing with him, they’d be together, they’d be happy. The pickaxe fell beside him into the dirt.

_La la la la la la la…_

_La la la la la la la…_

_Oh, singing; lala la la la la la…_

_La la la la la la la…_

_La la la la la la la…_

_Oh, singing; la la la la la la la…_

_La la la la la la la..._

The rest of the L’Manburgians had caught up to Quackity now, Niki, Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, even Eret was there. They sang with Quackity, making Wilbur turn around. He gasped, tears forming in his eyes. They sang for him. He even saw the shadow of what looked like a winged silhouette above him. They sang to him, calling to him. He almost didn’t want to answer. He had disappointed all of them. They must’ve hated him now. But weren’t they singing for him?

_And what has become of the heart of that man,_

_Now that the man is King?_

_What has become of the heart of that man,_

_Now that he has everything?_

Quackity began singing by himself again, the guitar strumming quiet again. Wilbur was staring at them, they had gotten his attention. That’s the best he could hope for now.

_The more he has, the more he holds,_

_The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders_

_See how he labors beneath that load_

_Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go_

Wilbur saw his country again, but this time in ruins. He stared past everyone looking at him. But this time, his country was in ruins. The torn-down walls, the flag burned. There were grey walls of a ravine, the paths slim and winding, the place constantly dark. It was so different from L’Manburg, it was so peaceful once the wars were done. Pogtopia was awful, a dark place where Wilbur’s negative emotions festered and his sanity lost itself.

_And he keeps his head low, and he keeps his back bending_

_He grows so afraid that he'll lose what he owns_

_But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending_

_Is already gone_

He looks up, for the first time, to find Philza himself gently flapping above everyone. His breath was long gone, he didn’t even know if he was breathing anymore. Phil looked down at him like he always had. He didn’t seem as disappointed as he did concerned. The face he made when he knew something was wrong with his sons. The face he’d make when Techno would come home, covered in scrapes, barely talking. When Tommy wouldn’t be usually chatting like always. When Wilbur would cry in front of him. Seems like he’d be doing the same thing again this day.

_Where is the treasure inside your chest?_

_Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth?_

_Where is the man with his hat in his hands?_

_Who stands in the garden with nothing to lose, singing:_

_La la la la la la la…_

It was working. _It was working_ . Wilbur’s hand found his mouth, as he looked down. He looked lost in thought. Hopefully, it was happy thoughts, thoughts of the old L’Manburg, of his old friends, of his old self. Where _had_ his youth gone? Had it disappeared before or after L’Manburg? Was it inside the black walls or the grey ones? When was it the real Wilbur had disappeared? When this broken man, this imposter, this shallow husk of a human being, had taken his place? The rest of his friends had quietly joined in, everyone quietly la-ing along with the strums of the guitar.

_La la la la la la la…_

Everything had stilled, except for Quackity’s hands as Wilbur joined in. He sang quietly at first, a stark difference from how he used to sing. But even with the quiet almost humming, everyone had smiled. Everyone silently rejoiced. They’d done it, right?

_La la la la la la la…_

Quackity sang along next, alone. He sat down and strummed Wilbur’s worn guitar, the frayed strings still producing perfect sound. They were old and worn, but they worked wonderfully. They had for years. Everyone had followed his lead and sat beside him. Wilbur finally looked up from the ground, making watery eye contact with Quackity. They both had tears in their eyes.

_La la la la la la la…_

They all sang together. Everyone. Tubbo, Tommy, Niki, Fundy, Quackity, Eret, Phil, and Wilbur. They sang together, all loudly singing along. Tears finally fell from Wilbur’s eyes as he took shaky steps closer to everyone, sitting down in front of them. He smiled. It was the first time he had genuinely smiled since Pogtopia was even founded. Quackity gently handed Wilbur his guitar, both still humming along. Wilbur’s fingers found the notes to play as he sang along, alone this time again.

They had won. They had truly won. Wilbur wiped at his eyes as he placed the guitar down on the ground. Tommy raced over and tackled him in a hug. Wilbur laughed. Niki took his hand. Wilbur hugged her. Quackity sat up, grabbing his other hand. Wilbur let himself be pulled up. Eret glanced in his direction, his glasses doing nothing to hide his happiness. Wilbur smiled at him. He patted Tubbo’s head. He practically strangled Fundy in a hug.

Phil gently fluttered down, and Wilbur turned to look at him. His mouth was agape, wondering what Phil would think of his son, so close to completely snapping. Phil hugged him. Phil cradled Wilbur’s head in his hands and whispered to him. Wilbur’s body shook. Shook with tears, fear, relief, grief, pain, stress, happiness? They didn’t know. They never would.

\-----Months Later-----

No one liked to talk about November 16th. The day Schlatt had died, the day Wilbur almost snapped, the day Dream had lost, the day everyone else had won.

Techno had started to unleash his fury that day, but he found himself staring at his father, walking alongside his brothers. They were smiling, laughing. Someone had saved Wilbur. He wasn’t gone any more. He was there. He was present. He wasn’t insane. Dream had thrown a fit, trying to detonate the TNT, but Techno had stopped him. L’Manburg stood where Manburg once had, and it stood strongly.

Tubbo was a president led by a failed one. Techno was an anarchist leading his father in his beliefs. Tommy caused chaos as always. Niki and Fundy lived in L’Manburg again. So did everyone else. Quackity went on to try to make his own nation, much like the failed president. They liked to talk to each other, they both liked to sing. There was one song they always avoided, though.

_...who stands in the garden with nothing to lose, singing:_

_La la la la la la la…_

Wilbur sat along the edge of L’Manburg, sitting along small walls that had been built up, in old L’Manburg’s honor. He strummed his guitar gently, the frayed strings playing louder and better than ever. He didn’t notice Quackity hopping up on the edge of the wall as well. 

_La la la la la la la…_

Wilbur jolted slightly, surprised by the accompaniment. But he smiles. They both smile. 

_La la la la la la la…_

The song is bittersweet to them, a song of hope but despair. A song of relief but pain. A song of saving but tears. The last chance, a “plan C”. They sing together, two men who lived through hell but somehow survived. One scarred, one new. One done, one just beginning. Old frayed strings and sharp new ones. Both sing gently together, reminiscing of those bittersweet times. The times when music was louder than anything else. The time when music saved many lives.

They had won the war that day. They won back their friend. They won everything they needed. Two bards, a new and an old, sat singing together along the walls of the land the old used to rule. Not many knew how the new saved the old, and his land. Only friends of the old bard stood by the new as they saved him. And again, only friends of the old stood by to watch the old give the new his guitar, his savior. No longer was his name etched in the old, frayed, and burnt guitar. In its place was a message for only them to know and process.

_Oh, singing; la la la la la la la…_

**Author's Note:**

> It do be getting a little vague at the end tho  
> Please go check out the animatic it's beautiful and makes me want to cry <3


End file.
